hunt you up some good hard-workin white men and make
you a trade and git rid of them black bastards.
He folded the piece of paper. "I needn't tell you what
Mr. Murdock's reactions are," he said.
"They ain't no secret/' Mr. Murdock remarked glumly.
He walked across to the fireplace before which Doctor
MacDonald stood, spat upon the burning logs, and addressed
himself to the company. "Ain't no man gonna tell me
who's gonna crop on my place. That is, till the bank takes
it over." He spat again, and walked back to resume his place
against the wall. He added. "Which ain't gonna be long,
Fm free to tell you, unless something happens."
"A lot of folks been saying ain't no man gonna tell 'em
when they could sell their tobacco," Mr. Burden said. "It's
all whose shoes it is pinches."
Doctor MacDonald grinned. " That's a way of putting it,"
he admitted, "but there's a difference. Now------"
"Durn it," Mr. Christian said. Mr. Munn had not seen
him before. He was sitting humped over in one of the desks,
concealed by a group of men. " Durn it," he said, " say it's
whose shoe pinches. Say it, and I say, well, by God, I've just
decided it ain't gonna be mine, it's gonna be somebody else's
for a pissing-spell."
"I don't mean to say I'm backing down," Mr. Burden ex-
plained, shaking his mass of dark, unkempt hair so that the
forelock fell over his brow. " It ain't a secret I've done things
of late I never thought I'd set my hand to, but I reckon
there's been many a man could say the same before he turned
his eyes to the wall. But I ain't backing down. I was just re-
marking. All I said it was, was whose shoe it is pinches."
** There's a difference, now, you'll grant," Doctor MacDonald
said. He smiled and wagged his pipe at Mr. Burden. " The
fellow who wrote this note to Mr. Murdock is some poor
God-forsaken, belly-dragging blackguard that blames his bad
luck on a nigger. Any white man that's honest and got jay-
bird sense and wants to crop can get a place round here. The